


Your Heart and Mine

by Mrs_Don_Draper



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012)
Genre: Anal Sex, Childhood, Control Issues, F/M, Feeding, Holding Hands, Hugs, Implied Torture, Impulse Control, Insanity, M/M, Mind Games, Mindfuck, Mommy Issues, Murder, Protectiveness, Rape, Rape Recovery, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-23 21:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Don_Draper/pseuds/Mrs_Don_Draper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic Exchange Prompt: Silva has names and codes that they need stored on his encrypted computer. And he's kind enough to give them over to Q Branch. For a price, of course. The payment he requires is to partake in their bodies for just forty-eight hours. While he seeks revenge by putting them through pain and heartache, Bond and M find themselves bound closer together than before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyrilu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/gifts).



“Disrobe and then get on the bed, James. Lie on your back,” Silva orders.

James looks to M before he moves. He waits for her nod of approval and begins stripping himself of trousers, button-down, and socks. He carefully folds them before placing them on the desk in the corner of the room to buy himself some time to refocus. Doing this with Silva is an immensely draining physical and mental task, if the other times this has happened already are any indication. M watches Silva while Bond disrobes. She watches as he sits propped against the headboard of the richly blanketed bed and strokes his cock mechanically as he himself watches Bond go through the motions of stripping down. And while M and Silva are busy getting an eyeful, James finds himself focusing inward in an attempt to come grips with going through this again. Silva is going to fuck him into the bloody mattress. But M needs him to do this, has asked him to do this, so he is going to do it.

Walking over to the bed feels like walking to his own execution, and James feels his mind trying to shut itself down so it doesn't feel this. He makes brief eye-contact with M before he moves to lie next to Silva but is forced to look away when Silva grabs his jaw to face him. Bond fights not to struggle against his grip.

“How your eyes shine,” Silva whispers, leaning in for a kiss.

Their mouths meet without the usual flush of arousal that goes with it. Silva kisses him like he's only doing so to go through the motions of what sex is: sweet talk, kiss, make out, prep, fuck, repeat if desired. James keeps his eyes open as Silva tries to force his rough tongue into his mouth. He gets chills that has nothing to do with arousal when Silva licks at his lips. He feels next to nothing when Silva slips his hand down from his chin to cup his neck and jaw in a possessive motion that makes him gasp for breath when no pressure has even been applied to his throat. It's the suggestion of what could happen, what may happen that has his usual defenses crumbling. Silva moves on top of him when he gets minimal reaction from the agent.

“James, she is watching us, you know,” he says with a toss of his head.

He looks over Silva's shoulder to see her watching them together. She's sitting primly in her seat, but she's absently wringing her hands, and it's a dead giveaway as to how she's really feeling. One look into her eyes tells him that she wishes it didn't have to be like this. It was the only chance they had at getting Silva to cooperate. The three of them were bound together, willingly or not.

“M,” he implores.

He lifts a hand to reach out to her. Silva takes advantage of this moment of weakness to settle down more snugly onto his body and burrows his face into his neck to suck and bite. James hisses at the pain his sharp teeth bring and cringes when Silva's hands slither down to hold on to his hips. His eyes have not left her face. He is silently begging her to understand. He needs her right now more than anything else. The walls he usually sets up with ease shatter with each bite and thrust from the man above him. He wants her to come to him.

M hesitates for a moment before rising from her seat. She tries to control her trembling, but James sees it plainly. When she is at the bedside, he reaches his hand out to her again, and she carefully grasps it in hers. She sees him visibly relax. Unfortunately, Silva notices this as well.

“Ahhh, you want Mummy to join us? I wouldn't have expected it from you, James.”

Silva looks up at M with a cruel smile. He enjoys the anger that flashes briefly in her eyes.

“Would you be so kind as to hand me the lubricant, Mummy dearest? Wouldn't want to hurt James, now would we?”

With her free hand, she grabs the jelly from the nightstand behind her and is careful to hand it to him without their fingers brushing. It was a selfish thing to do, and she knew it. James was being forced to do this, and she couldn't even manage to touch his hand. But now was not the time to dwell on such things. There would be plenty of time after. Too much time.

The snick of the cap brings her back to the present moment. Bond squeezes her hand when Silva shoves in two fingers without so much as a warning. Bond grimaces, and Silva chuckles. Bond would never have survived as long as he did in China. Bond wouldn't have waited five months for rescue. If this was painful, Bond was a weaker man than he had originally thought, and it is this notion that makes him press a third finger in as well. Punishment for not being man enough to handle a little pain, a little discomfort. How would Bond have responded to being fucked with nightsticks? Or baseball bats? Or metal pipes that they later used to beat him with? An ordeal like that could make a man go insane!

“Hush, darling, hush. I'll make the ache go away. I will fill you until you can no longer feel the ache of loss and loneliness any longer. I can help you.”

Silva pulls back enough to lube his cock and line up with James' hole when James shouts, “Wait!”

His sudden outburst is enough to startle them all into stillness, waiting to hear what he has to say. Silva looks amused.

“I need her,” he chokes out. “Please. I need her.”

Oh, it is a harmless request, really. Bond can cling to her all he wants. He's still going to be fucked tonight, whether he likes the idea or not. It doesn't truly make any difference.

“James?” M asks.

She needs him to be perfectly clear in what he's asking of her. They cannot afford any sort of miscommunication. She listens carefully to his response.

“I need to see you. I need you next to me, under me, fuck, I don't—I can't do this alone. It's too much, M.”

She hasn't heard him sound so forlorn since he came on MI6's radar when he was at the tender age of sixteen. She had been in recruitment then, scouting for orphans and runaways and geniuses to fill future positions at MI6. She wasn't M then, just Emma to some and an ex-Double Oh to others. They sent her to a boarding school older than the Queen Mother to talk to a young man who showed promise in espionage if his pranks and hijinks were any indication. She had to admit that putting the headmaster's car on the roof of the library was quite something. So when he was called out of class to have a private meeting with her, she was expecting a cocky little bastard that she could shape into something worthy of the Queen's service. And he was, beyond a doubt, but as they talked, she noticed something else beneath his bravado. She had seen it in several recruits with similar pasts to his: an innate sadness that never seemed to quite leave their eyes. And while he kept mostly to himself outside of answering her questions, his eyes spoke volumes. There was something about the boy that touched her heart and made her ask him, “How would you like to get out of here?”

He looked at her intensely, as if weighing the truth to her words. His brows scrunched in scrutiny before he managed to say, through a lump in his throat from the sound of it, “I can't do this alone.”

And as she said to him then, she says to him now, “I'll be right here.”

M isn't sure if Bond remembers everything from their conversation that day, but something in the way his eyes change tells her he remembers that. Something in their silent conversation is enough to make Silva back away for a moment, allowing her to climb onto the bed to lay near James. James throws a leg over her middle to hover above her. Comforted by her mere presence and proximity, he presses their chests together to present his ass to Silva.

“Good, good!” Silva interjects much to cheerfully. “Now we can finally begin.”

Silva bottoms out in one go, and James grunts loudly into M's shoulder. She reaches up a hand to hold his head close to her, covering his face from Silva in a weak attempt to shield him from this experience. And, not wanting to look at Silva either, tucks her head against his. She hopes to shut them both out from this, though it's only to cradle and hold and murmur and not much more. James' moans of discomfort nearly break her heart.

“Shhh, shhh, now. There's my brave boy.”

Silva glares at her murderously and thrusts with enough force that the three of them slip up the bed.

“God, fuck!” Bond snarls.

“I'm here. I'm always here. Hush, hush.”

Silva laughs darkly above them.

“'Always here'? That must be new policy at MI6, hmmm? When was that made a rule, Mummy? When did they change the 'fuck them over and leave them behind' rule?”

He is panting harshly, almost getting off more from baiting her on than from fucking her precious Bond.

M's eyes snap open when he says this. Silva smirks in victory. He's got what he's always wanted: her attention. She waits to see if he will continue.

“So this is what I had to do to get you to listen? Fuck your latest toy?”

She glares daggers at him.

He smiles his dreadful smile and begins a brutal rhythm with his hips. The sounds of skin on skin snaps and echoes throughout the suite. He had slowed while they crossed words, but with this new pace, Bond was back to whimpering and moaning in displeasure. Knowing her words will be mocked and will only serve to make this even more difficult on Bond by proxy, she resumes cradling him against her. She presses soft kisses to his cheek and neck and gently pets his head and shoulders in a meager attempt to assuage his fear and pain. It helps for a while, but soon oversensitivity begins to set in and so does James' trembling. It is both a blessing and a curse when Silva finally ejaculates into his ass. Silva lets out a tremendous sigh of contentment.

“Wonderful, James. I say this to you without exaggeration. I can see why you list of conquests is so long.”

After a moment, Silva pulls out, and James gasps as his hole clenches down on nothingness. The soreness and emptiness is almost as uncomfortable as being penetrated. Silva chuckles once more and climbs off the bed to shower. It leaves the two of them some moments to collect themselves and talk, but M is at a loss of something to say.

“Are you alright?”

James snorts as he carefully rolls off of her. He doesn't want to get come all over her clothes, though he instantly misses their closeness and her warmth.

“Didn't you hear him? I'm _wonderful_.”

He settles down on the other side of the bed with a grunt from the accidental jostling he had just given himself. Jesus _Christ_.

“James?” she asks with urgency.

He sighs, unsure of what to say. He resents that this is something he has to do, that this is something she has asked him to do. He's used his body in much worse ways with far less to be gained, but there's something about how close to home Silva hits that has him feeling bitter. Silva had agreed to surrender, had even already handed over equipment to Q Branch as proof of his willingness to cooperate...on one condition. He wants forty-eight hours of their time. He wants intimacy, closure, he had said. There is no option of Belmarsh this time; it's solitary confinement for the rest of his days for him. He has nothing to lose, but they do. They can gain his contacts, codes, technology, weapons, coordinates, names, and so much more if they would only give him their time. 

“Your man, Q, will not need more than two days to get what he needs,” he had said. “And neither will I.”

There was no way to tell if they would need further assistance from the ex-agent in decrypting his computer and had been forced to acquiesce to his request in order to remain in his favor. He asked especially for M, though he had made it clear he wanted him as well. They had one shot at getting invaluable information, and they were not about to lose it over something as “meaningless as sex.” The advisers in the room hadn't quite been able to look either of them in the eye as they threw that out into the open. A callous example of the Boy's Club trying to diminish the impact of debasing news by being debasing themselves. Little did they realize that such misogynistic and inhuman thinking was precisely how Silva became this unfeeling creature.

So here they were: in an MI6 semi-monitored (sound only) hotel suite with a mad man while Q Branch frantically went through countless lines of code, trying to find a way in before it was too late. He could picture his Quartermaster typing in letters and numbers to save their lives and possibly many others. He foolishly wondered if the boy had had a cup of Earl Grey in the last twenty-fours.

“James?” M repeats.

He doesn't say any of this aloud. Instead he settles on, “I'm fine.”

She doesn't even come close to believing him. Not one bit. So, in order to soothe her fears, however briefly, he reaches a hand out into the space between them for her to grasp. And she does, tightly. For now, they have a peace between them, and that is all that matters.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This photo was used in writing part of this chapter: http://30rockoffice.tumblr.com/post/37968662809/oh-my-god-this-is-just-entirely-too-wonderful-for

Silva exits the shower whistling a sunny tune as steam from the bathroom follows him out. It covers his face for a moment before dissipating and makes his view of the bed clear. He sees James and M curled around each other on the large bed, eyes closed and hands clasped together. He knows from personal experience that neither of them are actually asleep, merely resting with eyes closed as they force themselves to mentally regroup. It was a practice he had come to be familiar with through his stay at a P.O.W. camp in Hong Kong all those fifteen years ago. And he, like the Chinese, would not let his guests a moment to rest. There wasn't much time.

“Perhaps we should ring room service and have ourselves a fine dinner, no?”

They open their eyes then and watch as the brutally scarred man before them pulls out a fresh change of clothes from a drawer and dress himself. The two MI6 operatives share a look before moving off the bed and over to the table where James' clothes still sit. Luckily his clothes were not victims of Silva's earlier assault. James is meticulous in rinsing come from his thighs and ass in the sink as he only has the clothes he was wearing when they agreed to follow through on this ridiculous endeavor. But he would never risk taking a shower; it would put M out of his sight.

“Shall I order your favorite for you, Emma? Or did you have something else in mind?”

M purses her lips and looks at him with disdain. “I haven't much of an appetite, strangely enough.”

“Mummy, are you forgetting that all of this is bought and paid for by your beloved MI6? You can have anything you want. James, darling, try to talk some sense into her.”

James ignores him and lights a cigarette. He takes long drags that leave a smoggy veil around him. Silva tsks at them and goes to pick up the room phone. They confiscated his hours ago.

James is brooding so much he isn't even sure what Silva ordered as his last meal.

A tense silence settles over the room when Silva hangs up the phone. The chime of seven o'clock tells them Silva has only fifteen hours of his life left. They were dealing with a mad man before, but now he had nothing more to lose. Regardless of any action he made tonight, they would lock him up some time in the day or so. If nothing had killed him before, consistent solitary confinement would at the very least prevent him murdering anyone else.

James watches M resume her spot in the armchair as he stubs out his cigarette and lights another. Now it was just a waiting game. And if Silva is waiting for one of them to speak first, he is sorely mistaken. They all sit up a bit straighter when there is a knock at the door. 

“Room service,” calls out a familiar voice.

James hops up to answer the door. It's Moneypenny with a covered tray. A look down the hall tells him she has five armed agents with her. They are giving Silva his forty-eight hours as per his ultimatum, but any action beyond what was negotiated is to be punished with open fire. 

“Thank you,” he says meaningfully.

He looks over his shoulder to ensure Silva hasn't moved towards M. He hasn't, but his eyes are wandering.

“You ok?”

“The best,” he quips.

Eve smiles sadly and nods. There's not much more she can do other than offer them all of her moral support. Little does she know that that is greatly appreciated. The door clicks shut with a certain finality.

“Let us eat! I know you claim not to be hungry, but I insist.”

He uncovers the tray to reveal cream cheese stuffed white fish with lemon flavored roasted winter vegetables and olives on the side. And for dessert was a confection of berry-maple bread pudding. Bond had to admit that the man, for all his sins, had good taste. James sets the tray on the table, and they move to sit around it.

“Can I truly not tempt you with even a taste? Just one bite, Mummy. It's to die for.”

He holds out a forkful of fish to her, and her mouth waters. The last time she had eaten was before her meeting with the Prime Minister a day ago. And while it may have been easy for Silva to deny hunger, she could not say the same. Hunger let her with a lightheadedness that would do no good if anything went further south. She needed to be alert for James, if only to provide him with conscious company since she would be powerless if Silva decided to attack her.

She opens her mouth to accept it, and it is so tender and juicy it nearly melts in her mouth. And before she can swipe it away herself, Silva catches a dribble of cream from the corner of her mouth with the tip of his finger and sucks it clean. He moans in delight. M swallows and the warmth and weight of food is a welcome feeling in her empty stomach. She tries not to look too eagerly at the platter when Silva moves to take his own bite.

“Oh, the pleasures of fine dining,” he says with a sigh. “I doubt they'll have this in prison, yes? Another bite, darling?”

She doesn't nod, won't nod, but her eyes drift down to watch him tempt her with another stab of his fork. Vegetables this time but the rich cream has stuck to some greens. Her body is telling her to take it, but her mind is fighting back. Eventually, she crosses her arms over her stomach, and Silva clucks at her.

“Well that just won't do. I will feed you if I must, but there are forks for the three of us. James, you must be quite famished yourself. All that running and jumping is exhausting. You must recharge sometime, my dear.”

Silva winks at him as if they're sharing a secret. Instead, James lights a third cigarette and leans back in his chair to observe Silva and keep an eye on M. He could not care less what became of him, but she was a different story. She always had been, even from their first meeting.

He had been called out of class that day and told to go immediately to the headmaster's office. He remembers wracking his brain, trying to remember what he had done recently that would get him called in again, but could think of nothing. He had been kept busy with exams lately and had no time for plotting with his mates. Harmless things of course, like changing salt for sugar in the kitchen or putting green paint in Thomas' shampoo. Although there was that time last year when he and some of his friends had gotten some of the math and engineer geeks involved in helping him craft a way to lift the headmaster's car onto the roof of the library. It was even funnier that they couldn't suspend him from classes since he was hosting some very rich prospective students in his dorm room. It had always stuck in the old man's craw. Perhaps the headmaster was finally getting his revenge.

He opened the door with a knock and poked his head in to say, “Headmaster, if this is about last year—”

But Headmaster Williams was not in his office. Instead it was occupied only by a woman who looked to be in her late forties. 

“Sorry. Didn't realize he wasn't here. I'll wait outside then.”

He moved to exit when the woman stopped him. “Are you James Bond?”

The question stops him short, and he reenters the office and shuts the door. He sits across from her before saying:

“Who wants to know?”

“I'm—well, you can call me Emma for now. I work for a government agency in London.”

He feels his face redden. Was she here to arrest him?

“Ma'am, if this about putting the headmaster's car on the roof of the library, I'm truly sorry. It won't happen again. I was only having a bit of fun.”

The woman's, Emma's, lips briefly quirk in a smile before settling back into her original unreadable expression.

“In a way, yes, it is about that. But it's not because you're in trouble, exactly. Though I wouldn't recommend doing anything to permanently tarnish your record. I'm here to recruit you for Her Majesty's Royal Navy. And quite possibly to join Her secret service once you've proven yourself.”

James lets out a laugh in disbelief. “You must be joking. Or have me confused for someone else.”

“I'm sure I'm not mistaken. But if you'd rather stay here getting your kicks from taunting your professors and getting a degree in a field where your talents will be utterly wasted, then be my guest. There are many others who would love to be in your position. I'm sorry I wasted your time.”

She moves to stand, having a very good feeling her won't let her get far.

“Emma, wait! If I do go with you and follow this recruitment track you mentioned, where do I live?”

She met his gaze and saw he was afraid, not of military training or of her offer, but of the idea of being uprooted yet again. He wasn't about to go with this woman who promised him one thing only to mean another. He had been bounced from home to home in his childhood. No one ever really wanted him. What made her different? Wouldn't she simply leave him behind as well?

“We have housing and schooling for young men and women like you. You've got a spark in you, Bond, and I'd hate to see it wasted.”

He looked to be weighing the truth of her words, unsure of whether to trust or not, having been burned so many times already in his short life.

So she put it to him straight, “How would you like to get out of here?”

His brows scrunched in scrutiny before he managed to say, through a lump in his throat from the sound of it, “I can't do this alone.”

And as she said to him then, she said to him only an hour ago, “I'll be right here.”

She is the only thing in his life that matters, and he isn't about to watch Silva take her away from him. He's been watching her take tentative bites, begrudging the fact that she has to eat his food at all. But it will be worse for the both of them if she passes out from low blood sugar. He needs her to be strong.

Silva takes another bite and sets down his fork, presumably full. Most of the fish, vegetables, and dessert has been eaten by the two of them.

“James, must you brood all night long? Will you not even try to enjoy yourself?”

“I don't make deals with terrorists.”

“Then why are you here?”

His eyes flick over to M, but he makes no further comment. Silva follows his glance and smiles darkly.

“She is quite beautiful, even in her old age, isn't she. Do you want her, James? ”

James is careful in his answer. The implications behind his words will be picked apart by the both of them the moment he answers. There's no excuse for him not to answer this time. He stubs out his cigarette in an ash tray. He opts to keep his answer simple.

“Badly.”

If she is going to be forced into a sexual situation, he isn't going to allow it to be with Silva. He has first hand experience with the way Silva fucks, and there is no part of it that is even remotely tolerable. He is fairly sure the only way he got through it at all was the fact that she was right there with him. And while this is the last thing he has ever wanted to do to the white haired woman who saved him from foster homes and shitty schools, he will do it if it means keeping her safe. He would do anything for her.

“James, you don't have to do this. It's not your fight.”

“But you've made it my fight, haven't you? You made it my fight when you plucked me out of class twenty-five years ago and asked me if I wanted something more out of life. I won't let him touch you. I'll kill him if he does.”

The thing is that they both know he's serious. Silva has been all too aware of his icy glare following his every movement, especially when he came near her. It was obvious how much James loved her, whether it was maternal or something more. Perhaps he did not even have a name for it. Silva himself was never able to find a fitting label for the ache he felt in his heart and his stomach every time he looked at her. Not then or now. He knows that James has fallen into the same trap and wonders how many other hearts she has broken throughout her long career at MI6.

The two men stare each other down, and M rises from her chair and backs away from the table, not wishing to be more in the middle of this than she already is. Silva blinks first.

“Territorial, aren't we?”

In response, James rises from his own chair and stands behind her, right arm crossing over her right shoulder and gripping her left. He pulls her close to him, daring Silva to say or do something to set him off. He's a hair's breadth from lashing out at him, and Silva acknowledges it with a bow of his head.

“She is yours. I can see that now. What will you do with her, James? Kiss her? Fuck her? Tie her hands and shove her to her knees? Endless possibilities,” he taunts, moving closer to the them.

M wraps a small hand around his bulging bicep. She can feel him flex beneath his sleeve as Silva tests his limits. She needs to distract him, both of them. The hand gripping her shoulder squeezes tightly when Silva trails a finger down his jaw. His grasp is nearly painful when Silva comes unnervingly close to her breast. She swears she hears James let out a growl from low in his throat. And while she sees what game Silva is playing here, she can also see James' judgment is clouded as he tries to protect her. It is apparent that Silva will not cease his taunting until James makes some sort of move with her. M wrenches herself out of his hold and tugs on the back of his neck, forcing him to look at her and not at Silva. 

“You have to do something, James. He isn't going to stop until he gets what he wants. And what he wants is for you to prove your little display a moment ago isn't just you talking out of your arse. Because if you don't follow through, he will.”

Silva is pleased at her deduction. Despite the many faults he found in her, being stupid was never one of them.

There is little room for arguing with her, and he suddenly realizes that the bastard tricked him into painting himself into a corner. So much for his efforts in trying to prevent her from further trauma concerning this man. He shouldn't have let him push his buttons so easily.

Silva runs a finger around the inside of his collar.

“And what would you suggest?”

“Kiss me,” she says, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world. 

And she stands up on tip toes to do just that. He responds by wrapping his arms under hers and leaning down to meet her halfway. She gasps at his reaction, and he takes that as an opportunity to slip his tongue in, unafraid, now, to kiss her deeply. If Silva is watching, if he wants a show of possession and desire and loyalty, then he was up for the task. Silva had said he wasn't half the agent Silva was when he worked for MI6, but that didn't mean Bond wouldn't fight for what was his to protect. It wouldn't be the first or last time he would use sex and sexuality to his advantage. 

“What a lovely sight the two of you make. So much passion. So much devotion. I can see it plain as day. Perhaps you would be more comfortable reclined?”

It is clear that his question is not a request, and James carefully backs them up until they are next to the bed. It is also clear that M's nerve is beginning to waver.

“It's alright. You tell me what to do.”

She nods and begins unbuttoning and unzipping his clothes. And does the same to her at her allowance.

“I need to be on my back. Get the lubricant as well.”

He wishes he could takes this humiliation away from her. So he goes for a bit of levity instead.

“Just lie back and think of England, ma'am.”

James is immensely relieved when she lays back with a bit of a laugh and a smirk. It's even funnier because it is also entirely true. It's precisely why they are here in the first place.

“Be careful with her, James. She is so delicate. Not as she once was, like she was when we coupled. She enjoyed it rough, as I recall.”

“Don't listen to him, M. I won't hurt you. I promise.”

She looks up at him as he looms over her and puts a soft hand on his cheek.

“Dear boy, I think I already know that.”

He kisses her fingers. And goes about gently and carefully prepping her, careful to listen for tiny gasps and little moans of inadvertent pleasure and sticks to those spots until she's wet enough to at least come close to taking him. If he's going to fuck her, he's got to get hard, and he's not even sure if he'll be able to do it. He's had sex under pressure before. He's been forced to fuck under pressure before. But this is not just some mission he can move on from afterwards. He grips his lubed up cock in his hand tries to think of things that turn him on: nice breasts, soft lips, quick hands, bright eyes, sharp wit, commanding...It doesn't take him long to realize that he just summed up M in a few words. James mentally berates himself for getting hard. This isn't supposed to be happening.

Silva pauses in running a hand over the bulge in his trousers when he notices that James is stalling for time.

“Don't keep us waiting, darling,” he purrs. The _or else_ did not need to be spoken aloud.

He moves a bit further down her body and waits for her nod to spread her thighs. She fights the urge to close them again as he looks at her most private place. He tries not to let his gaze linger to staunch her embarrassment, and slowly rocks his way into her. When fully sheathed, she lets out a series of hurried pants as her body fights to accommodate him. While he patiently waits for her to adjust enough to get this over with, his other hand comes up to stroke her cheek, her hair, her neck. It's not controlling or domineering. It's the only small comfort he can manage as her body clutches at him. The wet heat of her is so hard to resist and the thought makes him want to vomit. He wishes there was something he could do to make this stop. She's not supposed to be hurt; that's his job. He's the one who signed up for this. 

“You can move. Just---gentle. Please, be gentle.”

He pulls out and pushes in with a steady rhythm, fighting to keep his reactions under control. He tries to resist the grip of her body. He grits his teeth as he tries to fight off the involuntary sparks of pleasure he feels when her muscles suck him into her with delicious friction. It's maddening, and it's making him feel ill. It's not helping that he hears Silva's hand making slick sliding noises nearby. 

Silva lets his mind wander back all those years ago when she had been Emma at Station H, and he had been her agent and lover, Tiago Rodriguez. He had known her before her hair went white and her skin became lined. He knew her when she was freshly married and already looking for something sweet on the side. He remembers when she would suck his cock, and he would go down on her until they both lost count of the number of times he had made her come and would fuck shortly after just to hear her scream her pleasure. He remembers dirty talk and sweet words and gentle gestures and sexy clothes and toys the buzzed beneath their sheets.

She's nothing like that with Bond. No, with him, she is tender. There is passion with them and sweet words too. But theirs is a different sort of coupling. He could blame this change on her white hair, her lined face, her deceased husband, her loyalty to Queen and country. He could blame is on her going soft in her old age on his months and months of torture. But if he didn't know any better, if he didn't wish any better, he would say they seemed to be in love.

He fists his cock harder as he watches Bond move over her, imagining him in his place. He's fucking her vicariously through Bond.

“You don't have to fight it, dear. I'm giving you permission to feel good. We're both going to be fine,” she bravely murmurs.

She sounds braver than she feels, but it's obvious that James could do with a vote of confidence. While this is taking a toll on her, she's glad it's Bond. M knows she would never have been able to cope if it had been Silva. If seeing him with James has been any indication, she can only imagine their coupling would be nothing short of brutal. Bond huffs as he attempts to relieve the tension she is sure has built up in his jaw. He was practically grinding his teeth. But she won't allow him to punish himself for this. It's her and Silva that are responsible. He was just unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire.

“Come on, come on,” she urges. Perhaps some encouragement will get him going enough to come. “You're so close now. I know you can do it. Come on, Bond.”

She's tired and sore, but she lifts her feet off of the mattress to rest them at the small of his naked back. It gives him a deeper angle and a strangled, “Oh _god_!” escapes him.

“That's it. You have to let go, Bond. Come on. Come for me, James.”

It's the use of his first name that does him in. He's always had a soft spot when she calls him that. He supposes it's because not many people refer to him by his first name. It's always “Bond” or “007” or an alias he uses on rare occasions. It's personal. It's heartfelt. It's meaningful. And goddamn it if it doesn't bloody get to him every time. He moans quietly as he spills into her, slowing his hips as his nerves finally quiet enough to let him stop. Her legs falls back to the bed when carefully pulls out from her body, panting.

It's the use of his first name that does him in. Silva always had a soft spot when she called him Tiago. He supposes it's because not many people refer to him by his real name. Always “Rodriguez” or “003” or an alias he used on rare occasions. It's personal. It's heartfelt. It's meaningful. And goddamn it if it doesn't bloody get to him every time. He moans loudly as he spills over his fist, slowing his hips as his nerves finally quiet enough to let him stop. His head tips back against the chair when he lets go of his prick, panting. 

“Are you alright? I didn't hurt you?”

“No, of course not,” she says breathlessly.

“Do you need anything?”

“Pajamas, Scotch, and a nap would be nice.”

James turns from her to face Silva.

“Oi! Get her a drink. Make it where I can see you. Don't try anything you think may be fucking hilarious,” he demands.

He remains facing away from her as she wipes herself off with a pillow case before dropping it onto the floor beside the bed. Good thing there will be no evidence to look for. Their target is standing four feet from her.

Having already gotten what he wanted, mostly, he goes along with Bond's request. Silva clicks off the lights once she has had her fill. In her exhausted, hazy state, the alcohol kicks in quickly. James fetches her a fluffy bathrobe in lieu of pajamas and pulls on his briefs and undershirt before climbing in bed next to her, quite exhausted himself. He curls protectively around her when they've settled and wraps an arm around her waist to hold her to him.

“This alright, ma'am?” he asks tentatively. He doesn't want to make this worse for her than it already has been.

She grips his hand in hers again and tries not to watch Silva stripping himself down to get into bed on the other side of him. M finds herself beginning to drift, glad to have a bit of liquid courage in her and Bond beside her before closing her eyes. 

Silva is naked against his back and quite liberal with his touches. He presses his nose against the back of his neck and breathes deeply.

“Mmm, I must memorize this scent before they take me away tomorrow. The memory of your skin, you muscles, your _eyes_ , James, will sustain me. Through you, I will live on.”

His hands cup his cock, ass, pecs. He tweaks his nipples and sucks and bites his neck. If James elbows him harshly, he doesn't apologize for it. He is actually quite satisfied with the involuntary “oof” that follows. It doesn't matter if he himself sleeps tonight, but he doesn't want M disturbed from her quietly restless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Morning cannot come quickly enough. James didn't sleep, and he would be willing to bet good money that Silva didn't either. M at least had a few fitful hours of unconsciousness. Though whether she found comfort in those hours is debatable.

The three of them dress quietly and wait for 8:00 AM to arrive.

Silva relaxes in an armchair with his eyes closed. James doesn't trust it for a moment.

7:30

7:36

7:41

7:47

Silva's eyes open. He must have known Bond had been watching him.

“I suppose this is good-bye for good this time, Mummy. I will no longer have comfort in the knowledge that I will one day see your face again. I am not foolish enough to hope.”

He stands and walks over to her. Just his stride is enough to put Bond on edge.

“You are truly beautiful, Emma darling. Do not think I won't miss you terribly. It will be an ache in my heart.”

7:50

These are the words of a dying man.

“For thirty years you have been my entire world,” he confesses, dropping to his knees at her feet. “I can beg only once more for your forgiveness, to hear my name cross your lips.”

M looks down at him stonily.

“Please, Mother,” he says, choked with fresh tears. “ _Please_.”

His hands reach out to wrap desperately around her ankles, and Bond snaps.

He kicks him fiercely in the head and tackles him with his entire body weight, rapidly putting him in a choke-hold. He squeezes and squeezes his windpipe and feels nothing as Silva gasps harshly until he doesn't even have enough air to do that. He sputters and claws at the arm cutting off his air supply. James frees his other hand to punch him over and over again in the head until the even sputtering has ceased. He breaks Silva's neck just to be sure and pulls away from the dead man, panting harshly.

M looks down at him in shock.

Bond climbs off of him and stands.

“I told him---I warned him that I'd kill him if he touched you. He touched you.”

The clock chimes 8:00, and several MI6 agents break down the door with weapons at the ready.

Bond looks at them and calmly tells them that that won't be necessary. Things had gotten out of hand, but he had dealt with it. There was no need to worry now.

They put the remains of Tiago Rodriguez in a body bag.

James later hears through the grape vine that Gareth Mallory himself made sure his entire body burned this time.


	4. Epilogue

It's a month later, and life is finally settling down to what is considered “normal” for MI6 operatives. 

James has been busy with missions big enough to keep him occupied and small enough to keep him from trouble. No small feat. And M has quietly been planning her retirement. When he comes back from the last mission she will ever assign to him, there is a bittersweet moment where one second they are standing on opposite sides of her desk and the next, they are on the same side, hugging each other fiercely. 

“You'll take care of yourself, won't you?” she implores, pulling away to look him in the eye.

He tries not to sound verklempt, but his voice wavers a bit when he says: 

“I can't do this alone.”

And she reminds him with a tap over his heart, “I'll be right here.”


End file.
